


blue eyes, you are all that I need

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: under 1k fic [20]
Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fix-It, Lazy Mornings, M/M, POV Eugene, Sleepy Cuddles, and nobody died THE END, sad tiny fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 15:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11762376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: The blanket smells of Vincent, of home.It's a hug wrapped in citrus and soap, a welcome back party for one, two weeks after the fact.





	blue eyes, you are all that I need

 

 

 

Vincent starfishes in bed, taking up every inch his sleeping body can reach. His hair sticks up haphazardly and he has a habit of talking in his sleep. 

Yesterday morning, it was _wait_  and Eugene's name meshed together in a somber tone. It's been two weeks since Vincent's return from Titan and he's still rattled about leaving Eugene behind.

Guilt seeps through his dreams and poisons the air around them no matter how many times Eugene reminds him that Titan had always been in the cards and he knew what he was getting into. 

Yes, Vincent is a far cry from a manufactured heaven. His guilt, his love, his sacrifice is organic -- there is no gene worthy of capturing his essence. Eugene wouldn't have it any other way. 

This morning however, he's smiling lazily and mumbling about home. Words like _'m_   _home_ _, Titan_ and _pretty b_ _lue eyes_ _._  Eugene notes the blanket bunched up around his body and the half of his own pillow that Vincent has unconsciously laid claim to. The discarded pile of clothing on the furniture rather than the floor to make getting around easier, the empty bottle of aged rosé  wine and two glasses -- it's all Vincent. 

"...so pretty. S'pretty...blue eyes," he slurs, sleep heavy. He gropes at the bed until his hand hits Eugene's naked waist and wraps around him affectionately. Protectively. One leg tangles between Eugene's and Vincent sluggishly gravitates toward him to rest his forehead against Eugene's bicep.

A year ago, if you'd asked him what he was living for, Eugene would've bitterly replied, "I'm not." Now, as he strokes Vincent's hair and the contours of his face where the sun hits, he knows what his answer would be:

_To stay up listening to Vincent talk in his sleep._

_To argue with him over toothpaste in the sink._

_To be inherently flawed but unapologetically loved._

For him. For imperfection. 

Vincent buries them both in the blanket and Eugene has to shove it back down before he suffocates. The blanket smells of him, of home. It's a hug wrapped in citrus and soap, a welcome back party for one, two weeks after the fact. 

 

He kisses Vincent's temple and thinks:

_You're here and I'm finally **home**. _

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "blue eyes" by cary brothers


End file.
